Eyes met again and Eddie’s breath was stolen from him.

“Are you?” Steve asked right back.

Continue reading on AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/72623551

What he didn’t expect was Steve Harrington to pull his sunglasses off, allowing his hair to fall over his eyes, give Eddie a slow and appraising once over while rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip.

“So, Stevie.” Eddie blinked up at him, batting his eyelashes, chin resting on top of both hands and leaning in close. “Ready to fall in love with me?”

He expected Steve to rear back a little or roll his eyes, scoff or even scrunch his nose up in disgust.

Steve’s eyes darted between Eddie’s hand, his eyes and his mouth, back and forth before taking it, covering Eddie’s hand with his own large warm one.

“Steve.” He shook, slowly, gently, almost like a caress. “Harrington.” He added on, as an afterthought.

one leg crossed over the other and chin propped on his hand.

“Hey there, lover boy.” He crooned, smooth as butter.

Steve jumped, turning wide, startled eyes on him.

“Munson?”

“That’s me,” Eddie grinned, holding his hand out.

eyes following crew members around the set as though he would be asked to jump in and help on a job at any second.

Eddie had never been one for thinking before he acted. So, despite his nerves, he practically danced over, throwing himself down in the folding chair next to Steve

He wasn’t sure what he expected Steve Harrington to look like in person. Maybe taller. Maybe cockier. Maybe more… glossy. The reality was a man in a wrinkled grey hoodie, sunglasses pushed up into his hair without a care for the way it made the thick chestnut waves stick up in odd directions

after he inevitably died covered in his own vomit, alone in a hotel room.

What a goal to aim towards.

When Eddie moved to LA, that was the goal.

That was not what he got.

And he couldn’t be more thankful for it.

Continue reading on AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/71541116

The type of guy other ignorant and naive teenagers would look up to, the guy who destroyed himself on substances, who woke up in a bed he had no memory of getting to, surrounded by naked people, living the rockstar lifestyle without a care in the world. He would live forever in the minds of fans

In his ignorant and naive 20 year old brain, that was the goal. To trash a hotel room, wail on his guitar on stage and have six people on each arm begging to sleep with him after every show, that would have been the coolest thing ever.

He would become an historic figure.

He was going to live the party lifestyle, he was going to ingest more alcohol and drugs than any human alive, maybe only beaten by Ozzy himself. He was going to throw and attend more parties than he knew what to do with.

CANON

Solid thick line work always scratches my brain just right. Also I love how you've drawn his haaaiiirrrrr